


Whisky Business

by Greenie (hidetheteaspoons)



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut, So why not all the sex-sex, The show version, They were having all the eye-sex, Whisky night, let's face it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidetheteaspoons/pseuds/Greenie
Summary: He hadn't intended to get drunk. He certainly hadn't intended to get drunk and return to his office to find his very beautiful, very married partner still working...
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 11
Kudos: 81
Collections: Happy Birthday Cormoran Blue Strike | 2020





	Whisky Business

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 46th Birthday, Cormoran Blue Strike. Here's hoping you're still having moments like these with the love of your life. 
> 
> BIIIGGGG thanks to @SeeBeeStrellacott for beta-ing!
> 
> P.S. - I took some liberties with the timeline 🙂

Cormoran could _feel_ the alcohol churning in his veins, like liquid fire, threatening to take his next words or his next movements hostage. He'd been at the pub for a few hours and had consumed four pints. Now he sat in the office, whisky in hand, heat creeping through his body. 

He hadn't intended to get drunk. He _certainly_ hadn't intended to get drunk and return to his office to find his very beautiful, very _married_ partner still working, now looking at him expectantly. 

He told her he'd been at the pub. He'd asked her if she wanted a drink. He was now sitting across from her, waiting to see what daft bullshit would come out of his mouth next. 

Strike had had drinks, yes, but he was completely in control of his faculties. He knew exactly what he was doing, sitting across from her, questioning her. 

“How's life, Robin?”

“It's okay, yeah,” she responded automatically, practically robotic.

“Things alright with you?”

“Everything’s fine,” she replied, too quickly for his liking.

_A pause._

“I'm not workin’ now. I didn't want you to think you had to sit here and think about work right now.”

Robin eyed him, then looked down to her desk where her notebook lay open to her most recent case notes. She snapped it shut and leaned back in her chair, looking at him pointedly. “I'm happy just to sit here…” she trailed, looking at him for a reaction.

“OK,” he responded. The silence lay thick and heavy between them like a blanket of new-fallen snow. It remained that way for some time before Strike said the thought that led him down a slippery slope…

“ _Are_ you?” 

_Fuck._

Robin cocked her head to one side in confusion, her brows furrowed slightly. 

Despite everything within him that screamed for him to remain silent, his mind and body rebelled against him.

She was beautiful, seated in the low, warm light of the desk lamp, eyes bright and cheeks rosy, and lips oh so soft and inviting. 

“ _Are_ you happy? To _just_ sitthere?” He questioned.

Realization dawned upon her face and she stared at him, unsure if he'd truly meant what he'd just implied.

Strike’s eyes bore into hers and he stood up shakily to move closer to her. Shuffling slightly, he rounded the outside corner of the desk. Then the inside corner. As he walked, she shifted her chair to follow his movements. When he reached her, she looked up at him expectantly.

“Is that _all_ you want to do, Robin, is sit here with me, in the dark?”

She slowly shook her head, upon further grasping his meaning. 

The fire burned hot and heavy, low in his belly, and Strike took yet another step closer to her, his hand reaching out to caress her cheek. 

“This alright?” He asked, but he could _feel_ Robin practically vibrating against his palm. She nodded and nuzzled her cheek into him. She let out a gasp of surprise when she felt the pad of Strike's thumb drag across her lower lip.

“Cormoran…” she husked, and he bit back a groan at the sound of his name on her lips.

She covered his hand with her own, feeling his warmth burning through to her skin. 

“Fuck, Robin,” he muttered, lowering his hand to his chest, attempting to maintain his equilibrium. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The scent of alcohol, and flowers, and _Robin_ engulfed him. 

He heard her sigh and a wanting whine of need escaped her throat. Just when he was sure he was going to be able to resist, she went and made a sound like that. 

He opened his eyes and looked down at her; her pupils were wide and her lips were parted in anticipation - so ready and inviting. “Cormoran…” she murmured once again, just a bit more sensual than the first time she’d said it.

Strike took her face between his hands, ever so gently, and placed a kiss first to her forehead, then to her eyelids, then to her cheeks, then to her chin. She trembled beneath his featherlight touch. Her eyes closed as she waited for him to make contact with her lips, but it never came. In fact, she felt herself grow slightly cooler as he pulled away. 

“We can’t, Robin,” his velvety soft voice told her, and she practically sobbed at the loss of contact with him. “I’m sorry, I never should have...It was impulsive...I’m sorry.”

Cormoran turned on his heel to leave, grabbing his coat, not daring to look at her.

“I’m not!!!”

He heard shuffling behind him and the sound of Robin’s feet hitting the floor. 

“If you were truly sorry, you wouldn’t have done it to begin with.”

He whirled around to face her, taken aback by her sudden boldness, the fire raging in her usually ocean blue eyes. Today, her eyes were colored with something different - a passion he’d never seen before. 

She was right. He wouldn't have done it if he hadn't meant it. And he sure as fuck meant it. 

“So what is it Strike, did you mean to or not?” she huffed at him.

“Of course I fucking did, Robin. Fuck.” The anger within him was rising. Anger at himself for putting them in this situation, anger at her for being here after hours, and more than anything, anger at the fact that he'd never be able to have her.

“I have to get out of here,” he grumbled, suddenly feeling very cramped in their office. He turned to leave once more and paused at the sound of Robin's voice. 

“We _can_ do this, you know.”

“No. We can't,” he responded gruffly. 

“Yes, we can,” her voice softened. 

He turned to look at her again, seeing that her eyes were softer than they were a few moments before. He searched her face for any indication of what she meant. He found none and once again made to leave. Robin made her case before his hand reached the door handle.

“Strike. I've left him.”

A wave of instantaneous relief flowed through his body. Every muscle that had tensed was now warm and loose. He took a deep breath, but didn't move from his spot.

“When?”

“A month ago. He made the decision for me when he slept with someone else.”

“Fucking tosser,” Strike cursed. He finally turned to look at her once more. “Your rings?”

She held up her naked hand. “Gave them to my lawyer this morning.”

“Where’ve you been staying?”

“Here and there.”

He gave her a stern look.

“I've been staying at Vanessa Ekwensi’s.”

“I'm sor-”

- _Don't,_ ” Robin harshly interrupted him. “Don't you dare apologize again.”

Strike shook his head to no one in particular and avoided her gaze. 

“I’ve left him, Cormoran.”

She waited - for her words to sink in, for his reaction to them, to anything that would help him realize that she was totally and completely his. 

“I need a smoke.” Strike grunted as he opened the door and slammed it behind him, leaving her in the wake of his anger and resentment. The slam of the door had fallen in time with the loudest _thud_ of her heart.

He hadn’t even allowed her to explain all the things she’d wanted to tell him. Robin collapsed in her desk chair and dropped her head to her hands, overcome with all of the emotions that had been lying dormant within her for so long. 

She heard him stomp away down the stairs, sensing the unevenness of his gait, until his footsteps faded into nothingness. She waited a few moments, silently begging him to come back, to return to her. _Nothing._

As much as she wanted to cry, she couldn't bring herself to do it. But the knot that formed in her throat felt possibly worse than crying. At least tears were a release of sorts, but the knot felt like a rock sitting in the middle of her chest, not allowing her to breathe properly and fully. Her eyes began to sting with tears that formed and wouldn’t fall, and remained that way for quite some time. Over the roaring in her ears and the _thud-thud-thud_ of her heart, she swore she heard someone coming up the stairs, but no, it couldn’t be. Her mind and her heart were playing vicious tricks on her and she refused to acknowledge them. 

Just as she was finally able to take in a strangled breath, the door to the office flew open and Strike returned, his face unreadable, though his eyes laser-focused on her. Robin unconsciously rose from her seat, as if he was a magnet and she was a helpless piece of metal being drawn toward him. He carried a small package in his hand, but she didn’t even notice. She couldn’t break eye contact with him.

“You’re...back…” she struggled to say aloud. “What did you nee-”

In one swift movement, in which time slowed, leaving her little chance to react, Strike came to her. With one hand dragging through her hair, tugging lightly, and the other settling around her waist and on the small of her back, pulling her closer, he seized her lips in his own. Without words, he conveyed all the things he’d felt for her in the past months and years. 

He hoped there was no doubt in her mind as to how he felt about her. 

“You…need you...always did…” he let out between kisses.

At his words, they consumed each other hungrily, with a need and a _want_ they hadn’t known before. Robin whimpered into his mouth and her hands reached up to tug through his hair as she attempted to bring him even closer, until there was no air between them. If she thought she couldn’t breathe before he walked in, it was exacerbated tenfold by the feeling of his mouth on hers. She eventually ran her tongue over his lower lip, taking him pleasantly by surprise, and he opened up to her, allowing her to plunder his mouth needily. He responded in kind, seizing her lower lip gently between his teeth, causing her to gasp. 

He hummed at the feel of her fingertips digging into his scalp and she felt this chest vibrate against hers. Their heated kisses slowly progressed to languid, romantic pecks and Robin felt as though her soul had left her body and not yet returned. Strike smoothed her red-gold hair behind her ear and placed a finger under her chin, bringing her face upward to meet his. Their eyes connected and he smiled at her, kissing her square on the lips once more, then pressed his forehead to hers. 

“You left,” Robin gasped, breathless against him. “What changed your mind?” 

“Nothing. My mind was made up the moment you said you’d left him. I knew that if we were going any further tonight, there were things I needed to get,” he replied, nodding toward the plastic bag he’d tossed on the desk, somewhere in the midst of their entanglement. 

She giggled, realizing what he’d done. “You went and bought…”

“Protection, yes,” he nodded. 

At this, Robin accidentally released a snort and immediately covered her mouth with both hands to hide her embarrassment. “Weren’t you being the slightest bit presumptuous, Strike?”

“God, I hope not,” he nearly growled, his eyes growing darker by the second. “I couldn’t trust myself to respond to you at that moment, because I would have taken you upstairs to my bed and made love to you right then and there, had you been so inclined.”

“I would have been.”

“Mmm?” he mused, not fully comprehending her response at first. 

“I would have been - I am - _so_ very inclined,” Robin smiled, shyly. 

“I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long.” With that, Strike took her in his arms and kissed her once more, their exchange growing even more heated than the first. She tasted of whisky and wine - a heady combination that only served to further intoxicate him. 

“How…long?” she whispered between kisses, as they each began reaching for buttons and jackets. 

He pulled back, only for a moment, making sure he had her full attention. “Since the day I met you.”

She took him by surprise when she threw her arms around his neck and seized his mouth. They stumbled slightly backward, with Strike catching them against the door. Having Robin pressed up against him like this spurned his libido and he groaned as she leaned further into him. 

“Need you,” she whined, and he hummed into her mouth in agreement. “Upstairs,” he choked out, not a question or a suggestion, but a statement of fact. She nodded against his lips anyway. 

After grabbing the bag off the desk, they opened the door and stumbled into the hallway, Strike forgetting to lock the door behind him. Robin whirled them around and paused, reaching to flip the lock and pull it shut. She then proceeded to run up the stairs, but was surprised to feel a tug at her hand. She turned to face Strike, who was a stair below her, he pulled her to him once more. She giggled, landing hard against his chest, and he planted slow, lingering kisses down her jawline and into her neck, finding the most perfect home in the place where her neck met her shoulder. The skin there was soft and sensitive, and Strike’s facial hair was just the right texture to be ticklish, but not scratchy, which took her by surprise. 

She was even more surprised when she rolled her head to the side, opening her neck up to him, moaning at the feel of his stubble brushing against her skin. “If we don’t get going, we’ll never make it upstairs,” she mumbled between moans, trying and failing to urge them up to the next step. 

“Can’t have that now, can we?” Strike asked, cheekily, as he pulled away from Robin. She whined low and deep at the wicked tone in his voice. When they’d finally reached the door, Strike hurriedly placed his key in the lock and swung it open. Robin entered and he followed, slamming and locking it shut behind him.

She’d been in his flat a few times, but had never paid much attention to the details. She didn’t imagine she was going to do that now either, as her mind was currently a racketball court, thinking of all the different things she wanted to do with him. They’d fought their way to each other, unknowingly, for so long. Who knew that all it would have taken was a little bit of whisky, all this time?

Robin moved forward, sliding her hands to his chest and up under his coat, slowly pulling it down his arms. She bit her lip as it fell to the floor and she reached for his pullover. He lifted his arms and she pulled it off him, only to reveal yet another layer of clothing. She growled in frustration and he chuckled, before reaching down to divest himself of his undershirt. Just like that, he was bare before her for the first time. She cast an appreciative glance over his strong-looking forearms, his toned biceps, and his waist that had narrowed significantly over the previous months. He looked soft and strong and lovely and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. 

As she reached for the belt of his trousers, he caught her wrist and brought it to his lips, kissing the inside of it. The scent of her filled his nostrils and he trailed his lips up the inside of her forearm, savoring the smell and the taste of her. By the time he reached her neck, he nipped at the skin there slightly, causing her to yelp in pleasure. She was surprised by how much she liked the feeling. She’d never liked being bitten when she was with Matthew, but with Cormoran, she found herself more interested in trying all the things she’d never liked before. 

“Robin,” he husked against her skin, “Can I take this off,” he pleaded, and tugged at the hem of her sweater. She nodded, and he wasted no time following through. Before she knew it, the sweater was up and over her hand, and she was also bare before him, save for the flimsy piece of fabric she called a bra. She felt a chill as Strike’s eyes roved down her body, taking in her creamy skin, the perfect swell of her breasts, and the hardened peaks that were becoming ever-so visible through the forest-green fabric.

He sucked in a breath and murmured, _“Christ Almighty.”_

Something about Robin in green - any shade - drove him wild, from the very moment he laid eyes on her in the boutique, when she’d turned to model for him, and he’d had to talk himself out of letting out a low whistle (she had been his “sister” after all). Now, the green of her undergarments was sending him into orbit; the way it complimented her luminous skin made him want to taste her all over. 

She blushed, but didn’t look away from him. She looked innocent and heavenly, but the way she bit her lower lip at him and raked her eyes over his half-naked form made him think that there was more to her than meets the eye. 

“What now?” she asked, ready and waiting for him to make his next move. 

He stepped forward and took her face in his hands, pressing chaste, opened-mouthed kisses against her lips. His hands wandered down, down, down her neck and along her spine, into her jeans, and over the generous curve of her arse. He felt her stiffen against him when his hand went below her waistline and pulled back to look at her. 

“What is it?” he paused, to make sure she was still enjoying herself.

“Just...not used to it is all,” she smiled.

“Not used to what?”

“Big hands,” she flashed him a wicked grin and urged his hand further against her rear, where he made an appreciative grab, savoring the feeling of her soft, supple skin beneath his palm. Robin groaned as he squeezed against her arse, while simultaneously pulling her against his solid body. She let out a gasp at the feel of him through his trousers, amazed that despite two thick layers of fabric, she could still feel how _hard_ he was for her. 

She reached down to unbutton her jeans, letting them fall to the floor to reveal her matching knickers. Strike let out a sigh at the sight of her in nearly nothing. She was glowing, healthy, and beautiful. He meandered over to his bed and began to undo the clasp of his trousers and they fell to his ankles, leaving him only in his boxers. Robin did her best not to stare too hard at the tent that had formed at his pelvis. He sat on the edge of the bed and set about removing his shoes, socks, and prosthesis. After carefully propping his false leg up against a nearby chair, he laid back and opened his arms to Robin. “Come here, you.”

With a giggle, she waddled over to the bed to remove her down socks, shoes, and jeans, and crawled into bed beside him. 

He took her in his arms and swept the bedspread over them both, soaking in her softness and warmth, and stealing it for himself. Robin buried her nose into his neck, smelling notes of pine, lavender, and the whisky they’d just consumed together. She took his mouth in hers, suddenly wanting to taste him more than she’d ever wanted to taste anything in her life. She loved the slightly salty tang that lay on his tongue, the way he consumed every part of her, and the feel of their skin as they made contact with each other over and over.

Robin nuzzled against him, pressing kisses to his hairy chest, moving all the way down the front of him. He sighed and closed his eyes at the feel of her lips on his skin, and how surreal it was to be feeling this, with her. She reached the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down slowly, and he was suddenly wide awake, watching her intently to gauge her reaction. He groaned as she released him from all remaining barriers and saw her eyes wander over him, taking in his rock-hard length. 

“Not used to big...you know…either” she gestured with her eyes, which were dark and large and _wanting._ Strike felt a surge of pride race from his brain, all the way down to his groin as she wrapped her hand around him. 

He hissed in pleasure, at the feeling of her warm palm engulfing him, followed none too quickly by her mouth, which was hot and wet against his sensitive cock. 

His head lolled back and his eyes closed as he reveled in the feeling of her lips and tongue, moving slowly up and down the length of him. He felt her try all manner of different maneuvers to see what he enjoyed the most. She rolled her lips over her teeth, gently dragged her teeth back up along his shaft, and released him with a loud, wet pop. She used hands and no hands and varying degrees of pressure, pursuing that which made him the most vocal. 

As she steadily built up a rhythm that was comfortable for them both, Strike found it more and more difficult to maintain control. She looked at him with her magnetic blues and watched him react as she sunk her lips down and over his cock and slowly dragged them back up again, eliciting a long, loud curse from him. 

_“Fuck, Robin. Jesus…”_

She pulled herself off of him and laughed, teasing him, “Never thought I’d see the day when someone said mine and another man’s name in bed.”

He snorted and seized her hair, grasping onto anything that would reduce the space between them. He longed for friction but settled for pumping himself with his own fist as he made a move to pleasure her. She rolled off of him, allowing him to grasp his cock and glide his fist up and down. He was smooth and wet from her tongue and mouth, and he couldn’t believe how good it felt. Releasing himself for a moment, he rolled over to find her looking at him expectantly.

“Your turn,” he growled, his large hand covering her lower belly and sliding down beneath her knickers, which were drenched all over. He hummed in admiration, not at all surprised at the effect he had on her, and she on him. His fingers slid easily against her as he gently massaged her folds, in search of that precious bundle of nerves that was bound to make her cry his name. Once he found it, he circled over and around it, working Robin up into a state of near-deliriousness. She could feel every nerve begin to buckle beneath his touch, but it wasn’t until his fingers entered her tight, wet cunt that her whines became moans of satisfaction.

With his thumb on her clit and his fingers moving within her, Robin was completely under his control, as if she were his marionette. He played the strings _incredibly_ well, moving her all about beneath his touch. Robin was sure that the strings were about to break when Strike slid a third and final finger inside of her, causing her to cry out as she hit the highest peak of ecstasy.

“That’s it Robin, come for me,” he encouraged her, continuing to move his hand against her. She bucked up against him, greedy for all the friction she could find, but he had no more to give. She felt a rush of heat surge through her core and suddenly went numb, feeling nothing but a wave of unmitigated pleasure as her cunt spasmed around his hand. Her mouth formed the perfect “o” shape and she grasped his bicep to stabilize herself, digging her nails into his skin for support. 

Strike groaned and bit his lip at the feel of Robin raking her nails against his skin, unintentionally scratching him. Her body contracted as she moaned into her release and relaxed once her orgasm had made its way through her body. He’d felt nearly every muscle clench around him and his cock twitched as she cried out to him, his name a song of praise on her rosebud lips. 

Robin collapsed against the mattress, willing conscious thought to return to her, so she could process what had just taken place between them. Never had an orgasm been so white-hot, so intense, and so breathtakingly earth-shattering. The only comparable ones had been solo and machine-induced. But this, with Cormoran, was so much more than anything she’d ever experienced. Her chest heaved up and down as she attempted to catch her breath and see through the post-orgamsic haze that her brain was currently enduring. He removed his fingers from within her, pulling out slowly so as not to shock her, but it was no use. She sobbed at the loss of _fullness_ and sighed deeply before tucking her body against his. 

Strike kissed her forehead and rolled over to clean his hands on a nearby towel. He was still painfully hard and more than ready to be inside the insanely beautiful woman beside him.

“Jusneedaminnit,” Robin murmured into his chest. She felt his chest heave slightly against her cheek as he rumbled with soft laughter, then kissed the top of head. After a moment, she turned her face to him, kissing him square on the lips, allowing her tongue to explore him expertly and thoroughly. Robin’s hands once again wrapped around his hardened length, stroking him as she kissed him. He moaned into her mouth and pulled at her hips, willing her to sit on top of him. She obliged and straddled his thighs, maintaining a firm grasp on his cock. 

“Come here,” he murmured against her lips, pulling her forward so she sat on his cock, her clit making contact with his shaft. She hissed at the feeling of him pressed against her slick, wet folds. All she had to do was move an inch or two in either direction to bring them both the friction they yearned for. She moved forward slightly, causing them both to hiss and groan. Strike sat up, using his core muscles to align his face to her breasts, so he could sample them to his delight. 

Robin threw her head back as Strike licked and sucked at her nipples, alternating first one, then the other, shaping them with his tongue into stiff, hardened points. Her breasts were curvy and _perfect,_ fitting just right in the palms of his hands. When his mouth wasn't in contact with one of them, his fingers took over the task, rolling and pinching until she gasped and he was satisfied that she had been teased enough. 

When he'd had his fill, Strike laid his hands against her hips, signaling for her to move back against his cock. He brought them forward once more and helped her build up a slow, steady rhythm, grinding against him. The feeling of her skin against his was magnified by the remaining heat and whisky in his bloodstream.

As she moved against him, the pressure within her started to build and she pressed her hands against his chest, bracing herself for another mind-numbing rush of pleasure, but it never came. Cormoran had slowed her down, his hands cupping her cheeks and bringing her downward for yet either searing kiss. “The next time you come, I want to be inside you,” he whispered into her ear between kisses, and she nodded in response.

“I want you,” she pleaded, ready and waiting for him.

“You have me, Robin. You have me completely.”

He reached toward the side table and hurriedly opened the box of condoms he'd bought earlier. Tearing the foil package with his teeth, he slid it on as Robin hovered above him, waiting impatiently. He guided himself to her heat as she settled onto him, lining them up perfectly. She whimpered as she slid down his cock and stretched as he filled her perfectly, wholly, and completely. He thrust up gently to meet her and suddenly they were connected, and it was everything. Fueled by whisky and lust and the pure magic of the moment, Strike gave her a moment to adjust to the feel of him. He appreciated just how tight and wet she was, all for him. 

Robin winced slightly, not in pain, but at the wonder of just how _big_ he was within her. She couldpractically _feel_ him in her belly. She rocked against him as he pulled out a bit and pushed back in, helping her get used to the new sensation. When they'd found a comfortable pace, she leaned forward, pressed her breasts to his chest, and placed soft kisses along his collarbone. 

Gradually, they slowed their pace, kissing fervently as Robin moved her arse up and down, gliding over him, completely in control. Each time she moved upward, it elicited a low whine from Cormoran's throat that made it nearly impossible for her to concentrate. He kissed her with a reckless abandon and she responded in kind, and their pace quickened once more. 

Robin quivered against him, her legs going slightly numb from sitting in one position for so long, and she struggled to hold herself up. She leaned back to grind down against him as he grasped her hips and moved deep within her.

He could tell she was close when her breath started to stutter and her moans became fewer and far between. Strike knew her well enough to tell when she was overthinking something, like she was at that very moment. He did the only thing he could think of to take her mind off things, and placed his thumb to her clit, swirling and circling against the most sensitive part of her. 

It only took a few movements of his thumb before he felt her clamp down on his cock, the walls of her cunt fluttering and tightening against him as she came hard and fast. Her face contorted, as if she could hardly stand to wait for him any longer. She wouldn’t have to. Strike could feel the pressure building within him, the white-hot rush of heat, and friction, and momentary numbness that happens in the seconds before an orgasm. Before he could even warn her, his thumb left her clit and his hands guided her hips.

The feeling of how wet she was, the smell of her, and the sounds of skin on skin were more than he could handle. He detonated within her, grunting and cursing and calling her name, as if it were both a plea and a prayer. He rutted into her two, three, four times, with his eyes shut tight, hoping that this wasn't the only time he'd ever get to feel her and see her like this. He felt her collapse against his chest, heaving and sweaty, yet smiling. He opened his eyes and she lifted her head to look at him, hair disheveled, eyes sparkling, and biting her lower lip, a move, which she would eventually learn, drove him wild for her.

He smoothed her hair back behind her ears and she kissed his chest, pressing her forehead against him as she caught her breath. 

“You okay?” he asked, concerned. 

She merely nodded and smiled up at him. “Completely,” she breathed.

Satisfied with her answer, he sat up on his elbows and kissed her forehead. She rolled off of him, and he winced slightly as he pulled out of her. He disposed of the condom and lay back down beside her, tucking her against him. 

Strike lazily rubbed circles against her hip bone while she trailed her fingers against his forearm. They were quiet for a long while, so long that he thought she'd fallen asleep until he heard her whisper, “So when's our next whisky night?”

He laughed and nuzzled his nose against her cheek. “How about tomorrow? But instead of whisky, we have a takeaway, and instead of sex, a movie on the telly?”

She gave him a pointed look, an eyebrow raised in doubt. “ _No_ sex at all?”

“We'll see,” he teased, and kissed her firmly on the lips. They both knew they needed to talk, but for tonight, they'd simply let their actions speak louder than their words. There would be so many more tomorrows in which they could worry about all the doubts that plagued their minds. For now, neither Strike nor Robin had ever been more sure of anything in their entire lives than they were about what had just taken place between them. For the first time in many years, they fell asleep, sated, happy, and in the arms of the one person they were destined for all along. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
